


Thirty-Five

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I love football!Roman so much, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Wrestle AU: Beautiful Beginnings, ambreigns - Freeform, and pretty!Dean, feelings with porn, football!Roman, pretty!Dean, thirst party saturday, this is a feels festival, triggers will be listed inside, wrestlers without the wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: Senior year finds Roman Reigns losing his spot on the basketball team, taking up football and eating his lunch in the library. [Alternate Universe]Inspired by the Thirst Party Saturday folks, this one's for you guys! Enjoy![x-posted to Tumblr, as always]





	

**Author's Note:**

> [TRIGGER WARNING!: This contains paternal abuse, brief mentions of maternal abuse, a self-diagnosed eating disorder, fat-shaming, internalized homophobia, parental restriction of food and anilingus.]

Despite what people said about him, Roman Reigns was not, in fact, stupid.

 

He was big, yes, but definitely not stupid. Puberty had finally hit like a freight train over the summer between his junior and senior year, bulking his previously athletic frame up to something more closely resembling a boulder. His voice dropped to the proverbial floorboards. When relatives called the house they mistook him for his father, a fact that made Roman’s heart sink.

 

The basketball team didn’t really want him anymore once they realized that there was _nothing_ he could do about the pounds he’d put on. Drills that he used to crush now left him winded, his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath.

 

Coach Zayn had taken him aside after witnessing him almost burst into tears when he couldn’t get the jersey that he’d had last year down over his stomach. “ _Roman, it’s alright. I know the summer is hard on a lot of folks in terms of weight. We’ll give you a few weeks off the team, okay? Let you get back into shape. Don’t want you hurting yourself_.” The unspoken ‘ _or anyone else_ ’ solidified Roman’s frown.

 

Unfortunately the only shape Roman’s body seemed to be interested in becoming was _bigger_. The strict diet plan from his parents didn’t help. If anything Roman just found himself barely eating at dinner, resorting to raiding the pantry in the wee hours of the morning so no one would see him devouring a whole bag of chips paired with a pint of ice cream. That, coupled with the shame of probably being the only person chucked off the basketball team for turning into The Incredible Hulk over the summer, left Roman tired and more than a little despondent.

 

Joining the football team was like a shitty Band-Aid on his situation. Yeah, they would accept his size and less-than-stellar grades, but it felt so much like giving up that Roman could hardly enjoy it. At least his dad was a little less furious about him being taken off of the basketball team. He missed his friends from basketball, though. All the football guys ever seemed to want to do was slam their heads together and cause a ruckus, whether on the field or in class. It was well-known in the school that the football team got the most funding because of the scholarship potential, and that, as well as the rowdy behavior of the team and the sullen attitude of Coach Owens, certainly didn’t _endear_ the team to anyone.

 

For the first time since middle school Roman felt lost. It had all been so simple. Work his ass off in basketball, get a scholarship to a nice college and keep his grades up above drowning level to stay at said nice college. Now he’d be lucky if he could find a community college that would take his ass, never mind the student loans that were sure to put him in a financial hole for the majority of his life.

 

It was…it was a lot for one person to handle. And Roman had no one to talk to about it, which made it seem a thousand times worse. The basketball guys wanted nothing to do with him once he'd taken up with the football team, making it abundantly clear one lunch period when Roman dropped into his usual seat at the table and everyone else had picked up their trays and left.

 

Seeing his replacement on the basketball team didn’t make anything better, that was for damn sure. The guy was slender, with fierce brown eyes and blond highlights in his brown hair. He had an intense edge to him that made Roman suspect he dealt with overbearing parents, but despite that he seemed nice enough. Roman couldn’t _hate_ the guy, no matter how much he wanted to. So he just kept his head down and grunted when he’d pass him in the hallway or by his locker.

 

His pantry binges were ended when his dad caught him one night, sitting on the floor with two empty bags of chips beside him and a package of Oreos halfway eaten in his lap. The guilt and excess food sat heavily in Roman's stomach as his father berated him, pulling him upright and shaking him by his shoulders before slamming his back against the wall. He was sent packing to his room, ears ringing, and the next day when he came home from practice his father had put locks on the pantry and fridge.

 

The library, a place unseen for most of his high school years, became Roman’s lunch area. It was quiet and nobody watched him eat there, which was really all he was looking for. At home it was an uphill battle, trying to get down whatever healthy variation on salad his mom had made this time around while his parents looked on like hawks. Roman could swear sometimes he was hungrier _after_ he’d eaten, pretty sure he was pissing through whatever calories he'd put in by sweating them off under his parents scrutiny.

 

The urge to eat was a constant, silent gnawing at his insides that was incredibly distracting. His grades plummeted downward, into D and F territory. Up to this point he'd managed to keep at least a C average. Teachers began asking questions.

 

Roman felt like he was drowning. His stupid, _huge_ body screaming for whatever sugary crap he couldn't have and making him loathe himself even more. He tried restricting his diet at school, figuring maybe it would fix whatever was wrong with him if he was more dedicated, if he had control over the other parts of his eating. But the single sandwich and small bunch of grapes every day led to him overeating on the weekends, when he could freely walk to the convenience store down the street from his house to fill his cravings. He felt weak, so weak and fucking helpless, like no matter how hard he tried he had no damn restraint at all.

 

The guy who ran the register at the store on the weekends and some weeknights went to the same school he did. Roman had seen him slouched on the bench in front of the principal's office numerous times during their freshman year, and sometimes he ate lunch in the library too. All Roman knew was that his name was Dean Ambrose and he wasn't much for conversation, sticking to reading what Roman's new teammates would call 'nerd books' (safely encased in book covers) and silently eating his own sandwich.

 

The protective brown paper wrapper on a particular smaller book had torn with a loud _rrrrrrrip!_ one day and Roman had glanced up at the noise, jolting in his seat when he realized what the title of the book was.

 

_Outgrowing The Pain: A Book For And About Adults Abused As Children_ the words on the spine screamed at him. Roman had abruptly felt like he was intruding, coughing awkwardly to hide how he'd moved and then getting the hell up and out of the library. His stomach started flip-flopping uneasily like he was on a rollercoaster. Something about the book didn't sit right with Roman, the words sticking to his brain long after he'd gone to bed that night.

 

Roman figured that losing his balance was alright if it only happened when no one else could see it. In the locker room after practice was fine, as long as everyone was crushed in there and jostling one another. Sometimes during practice when the adrenaline started slamming he thought he might pass out, fingers going numb and the black spots dancing in front of his vision momentarily before he could haul himself back out of that hole. He didn’t understand why the hell his body kept _failing_ at the most inopportune times.

 

He counted calories and minutes until the weekend, when his parents weren’t around and he was free to gorge himself on the junk he’d been deprived of, regardless of whether he actually liked it or not. Dean’s eyebrows had reached his hairline the day that Roman visited the convenience store _three_ times. Once when he headed out for his morning run, once on the way back from said run, and then again after lunch. “Man, you must be one hell of a stoner.” Dean remarked offhandedly as he rang up the bags of neon orange cheese curls.

 

Roman was startled by how rough the guy’s voice was, but more startled that he _had_ a voice in the first place. He flushed bright red, suddenly embarrassed as his brain seemed to catch up with what he was doing. _Jesus Christ, I am out of fucking control_. Panic gripped his chest like a vise. _How did I get this bad? What’s wrong with me?_

 

Dean, almost like he sensed his discomfort, quickly added, “Or you’re the guy making the snack runs for the stoners. Ain’t like it matters to me, man. Have a good day.” With that, Ambrose handed him the bag of snacks and opened his book again. It was a different size this time. Roman didn't even want to think about what the title could be.

 

Ambrose, wonder of all wonders, struck up a _conversation_ with him the next day during lunch. “How’s football treating you, Reigns?”

 

Roman was tongue-tied for a minute, stammering a few nonsense words before getting his act together. “I uh…it’s good. I like it?” he replied quietly. “I mean, it’s not basketball. But I don’t have a lot of options.”

 

Dean nodded like Roman had just imparted some fucking _sage_ wisdom, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “Why don’t you eat lunch with that newbie Rollins, or Neville and Apollo? I know you ain’t on the team anymore, but they’re still your friends, right?”

 

Roman forced a laugh. “Nah man, they don’t really want to be around me anymore. Not with this football millstone around my neck.” Six crackers with peanut butter on them sat on the table in front of him, carefully laid out in a two by two formation. His mother had read _somewhere_ that apparently according to this one study, looking at food for a little while before you ate it would encourage you to eat less. Roman took another swig off his bottle of water, narrowing his eyes at the crackers.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “The fuck are you doing? Is that your snack or somethin’?”

 

“My parents want me to lose weight.” Roman barely kept from cringing at the way he sounded, all forlorn like he was being starved to death. “Mom found a study she said I should try. So I’ll look at them for a little while, then I’ll eat them.”

 

“That’s…wait, that’s your whole _lunch?_ ” Ambrose asked, snapping his book shut when Roman nodded. “Jesus Christ man, what the fuck?” he hissed, glancing at the librarian to make sure she wasn't paying attention (she wasn't). “No wonder you’re always in on the weekends buying shit. Are you safe in your home, dude?”

 

_Outgrowing The Pain_ spun frantically through Roman’s brain. “I’m fine man, it’s not a big deal. I just want to make them happy. My dad was kind of upset when I was thrown off the basketball team.” _Kind of upset. He brought me into the garage and punched me in my stupid fat stomach, screamed at me while I was curled up on the floor. Kind of upset. He said my self control had gone to shit, he said that I spent the whole summer pigging out, slacking off, he said I disappointed him. Kind of upset._ Roman felt nauseous. _I’m not a fucking child. I’m practically an adult_. _I don’t think it would count now._

 

Dean’s expression was one of extreme suspicion, body leaned forward over the table and hands fidgeting with the paper cover on his most recent book. For some reason Roman was comforted. “Dude I know that we’ve gone to school together for like four years and this is maybe the third time we’ve spoken but…I mean, I’ve dealt with a lot of shit and uh. If you need someone to talk to, hit me up.”

 

Ambrose was the one that found him passed out in the locker room, slumped over on the floor against the wall. Roman remembered thinking _I should probably sit down_ and then Dean was shaking his shoulder, grunting “Are you okay, dude? Taking a nap?”

 

Roman could barely muster up a protesting groan, his head lolling back to bump the wall. Ambrose’s face swam in front of his eyes, those black spots making an appearance again.

 

“Yeah no, okay. Can you stand? I need to get you to the nurse.” Dean sounded worried. Roman wanted to laugh, settling for a smile and a weak huff of breath. It figured that the guy he barely knew would be the one coming to his rescue. In a way, he was relieved. He knew Dean wouldn’t tell anyone about this. “Seriously Reigns, I _need_ to get you to the nurse and I ain’t that fuckin’ strong. If I help you up can you walk?”

 

Roman shook his head and Dean sighed. “Fuck’s sake.” A hand grabbed his own and then Ambrose was bracing himself on the lockers and hauling him upright. Roman’s legs felt like they were made out of toothpicks, ready to snap under the load of the rest of him. _Just like everything else_. Dean shoved an arm under Roman’s shoulders before he could fall back down again. “If there’s a crimp in my spine from you, I’m suing.” Dean grumbled.

 

“Sorry man, I know m’ a lard ass.” Roman slurred, having a difficult time just moving his legs. Dean was practically dragging him along.

 

“You’re not a lard ass at all, dude. I’m just not as strong as you.” Dean had to be lying. Roman being huge and unwieldy was an ironclad truth at this point. “If anything you’re probably out of it because you ain’t been eating right. Fuckin’ pounding bags of chips or a tub of ice cream every two hours on the weekend and then starving yourself the rest of the time ain’t a smart idea, Reigns.”

 

“My parents-”

 

“Man, _fuck_ your parents.” Ambrose sounded irritated. “They should be working _with_ you on this if they're so damn scared about how heavy you are, instead of giving you shit and making you get into stare downs with your lunch. And by the way, you're _not that big_. Puberty is a bitch, man. Rearrangement of assets happens.” Roman realized dazedly that he was crying. Dean had to have noticed but he didn't say anything about it, hammering on the door to the nurse's office. “I get it man, I used to be short and scrawny. Now I'm tall, shaped like a fucking upside-down triangle and I sound like a chain-smoker. Food was hard to come by when I lived with my mom. I'm still not used to having it all the time, and I've lived with my foster family for over a _year_.” Dean's smile was kind, knowing. It made Roman's stomach twist.

 

“When I eat junk I can't stop.” Roman blurted out. “I don't know what's wrong with me, I don't...I've never been this way before, I've never been this _big_ and I don't know what to do. My dad, he-” The door to the nurse's office creaked open before he could finish and Roman slammed his jaw shut. _Shit_.

 

Dean's eyes narrowed to slits. Roman swallowed hard, stupidly terrified that his father knew automatically whenever he let something slip that could implicate him. “Your dad _what_.” The words were harsh. _Outgrowing The Pain_ battered at the inside of Roman's skull like a caged animal. _If anyone would understand it would be Dean. If anyone would understand it would be Dean_.

 

“Nothing, i-it's nothing.” He stammered finally, that guilty heat sitting heavy in his gut once again. It seemed all he was doing lately was disappointing people.

 

The nurse cleared her throat after a minute. “One of you actually _need_ something, or you just going to keep having a _Days Of Our Lives_ episode in front of me?”

 

For whatever reason after that day Ambrose was _oddly_ chatty. Constantly striking up conversations, whether during lunch or during his shift at the store. And Roman, weirdly enough, didn't mind it one bit. It was a relief to have someone to talk to, even if he wasn't talking so much as letting Ambrose talk _at_ him. Dean didn't bring up what had happened and Roman was intensely grateful for that, the former always steering the conversation towards neutral topics like _have you played the new Call of Duty_ and _damn Bray is fucking creepy sometimes_. It was simple, mindless, but the disappointment of his parents seemed miles away when he was talking with Dean.

 

Absolute control was still out of his reach. Roman struggled daily with the portions he was assigned but he didn't go quite so hard on the weekends anymore, mostly because he was too busy _talking_ to actually snag what he'd come in for. He had a sneaking suspicion Ambrose knew exactly what he was doing. After a few hours spent delving into Google Roman had a pretty good idea of what he _himself_ was actually doing.

 

_Binge Eating Disorder_. Phrases jumped out at him from the page. _Perfectionist tendencies. Working hard to please others. Eating alone due to embarrassment_. More words to rattle in his brain, even more stuff to bounce around while he tried to drag his grades up out of the mud. _A need to be in control. Feeling disgusted with oneself._ _The high of the binge, followed by extreme guilt_.

 

It really was true what people said about the devil you know. Roman gritted his teeth every time he so much as _looked_ at a package of cookies, but he didn't find himself buying them as often. He remembered the lazy days of summer with a flash of shame, all the eating in the early hours of the morning before breakfast and then breakfast on top of it. Skipping out on his friends later in the evening to head home and devour the popcorn or cheese puffs he'd stashed in his room. _This whole time_. He couldn't control anything else. His future, his voice, his own fucking happiness. _Anything_.

 

_Pathetic_ .

 

...

 

After a particularly grueling practice Roman was more spent than usual, arms and legs feeling like they were ready to snap off. He decided that passing out in the locker room would probably be a bad idea this time, seeing as how it was Friday and the odds of him getting locked in the school were pretty decent. So down the hallway he trudged, gear bag skidding and bumping against the wall. _Men's room. Near the entrance. So I can splash some water on my face and go home_. Thinking was difficult, like his brain was mired in peanut butter.

 

He hadn’t seen Dean all day. He’d been meaning to confront him, thank him for what he was doing. Humbly, of course. Roman knew he wasn’t really worth helping now that he was just another football jock, and the fact that Ambrose went out of his way to keep him distracted was almost unbearably kind. Roman shouldered open the door to the men’s room, raised his eyes up from the floor. And then stopped.

 

_That’s Dean_. His brain supplied helpfully. _And he’s wearing makeup. It looks good. Breathe._

 

Roman sucked in a breath, mental fog dissipating as Ambrose continued to stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights. The other young man had apparently been in the middle of applying his eyeliner, a jagged black line skittering across his cheek from when he’d been surprised by the door opening. “I…uh…” He looked like he’d put on some kind of lip gloss, his lower lip slightly iridescent and more pink than normal. Dean seemed terrified, his hands white-knuckling the sink. “Reigns, you can’t tell anyone about this.” He finally croaked out. “Please, I’m begging you. You can’t-“

 

Roman was across the room before he realized he was moving, shoulder pads shifting with loud plastic _clacks_ as he towered over Ambrose. Roman didn’t know _why_ he did it exactly, but the way Dean quailed under his gaze made his chest hurt. “Ambrose, I…” Roman paused, shaking his head and grunting _fuck it_ under his breath before wrapping Dean in a fierce hug. “You’ve done so much for me, man. I wanted to thank you. And…and you look nice. With that stuff.” He tacked on at the end, worrying even as he said it that it was too bold.

 

Dean stiffened in his embrace, seeming confused. “Th-thanks, Reigns. I uh. I’m not too good with the eyeliner.” He mumbled. “Foster sister showed me how, but I’m still pretty bad. You're uh. Taking this really well.”

 

“This your thing, though? Make-up?” Roman asked curiously, releasing the thinner man and propping his hip up on the other sink. “No offense, but you don’t strike me as the type.”

 

Dean frowned at the mirror, shakily scrubbing the black line on his cheek. “Mm, I only wear it when I’m at home though. At this point, anyway. I was too excited today, swapped some notes with Bliss for a new palette of her fancy eyeshadow, her mom works for Avon and stuff. For my ‘girlfriend’, you understand.” Ambrose seemed to be relaxing a bit, making air quotes around the word ‘girlfriend’.

 

Roman chuckled. “Like a kid with a new toy.”

 

“Dude, some of these colors look good enough to eat. It’s all I can do sometimes to not go full on mermaid-eyes.” Ambrose said with a rueful grin. “I was actually going to text you later, my foster parents said I could invite you over for dinner.”

 

Roman froze. _Eat? In front of people I don’t know?_ His stomach dropped. Dean was still talking though as he slowly ran the eyeliner pen under his eyelid. “…think Mom’s just happy I have a friend, honestly. If you don’t want to come over it’s okay. I know I don’t exactly fit into your circles.”

 

Roman bit his lip. “I don’t want to embarrass you.” He said quietly. “I’m sure your parents would be less than thrilled if they knew you were friends with the biggest kid in school.”

 

Dean grumbled, shooting Roman an annoyed look. “Reigns, I swear to fuck. First off, Baron and Cass have you beat in both height _and_ weight. Secondly, my foster parents aren’t like that, man. I mean they accepted all my…all my issues, even this stuff. Like it wasn’t a big deal to them.” Dean half-smiled and Roman found himself wondering what had happened to him.

 

“Alright man, if you think they’ll be okay with me.” Roman’s words rushed out of his mouth, scared that he would reconsider if he thought too long. “When uh…when do you guys normally eat? Should I bring something?”

 

“Mom wants me to grab dinner rolls. You can come with me and then we’ll head home.”

 

Dean’s foster family seemed really kind. His sister Bayley had grabbed the both of them in a _huge_ hug when Dean had come home. Ambrose appeared used to it, holding the dinner rolls above his head so they wouldn’t get crushed. Roman was impressed with her strength, feeling the hug through his rib pads.

 

“Easy sis! I need those lungs for breathing.” Ambrose complained, even as he hugged her back just as tightly.

 

“Mom, Dad, Dean’s home and he brought his friend!” Bayley yelled over her shoulder, cinching her side ponytail down a little tighter. ‘ _Good luck_ ’ she mouthed at Roman, giving him a wink before hauling him into the kitchen.

 

The dinner went surprisingly well. Dean's parents asked Roman a ton of questions, about school and what he wanted to do with his life. Roman found himself caught up in the conversation and _actually_ enjoying it, Dean butting in every once in a while to give him time to breathe.

 

Bayley’s girlfriend Sasha showed up at the midway point of the dinner with a second bag of dinner rolls and an apologetic expression, the “ _Sorry I’m late, everyone! The traffic was ridiculous,_ ” falling on deaf ears as chairs were shuffled.

 

Roman and Dean moved close enough to bump elbows every time Roman picked up his fork. Ambrose...he shouldn't have looked as good as he did, talking a mile a minute with Sasha and Bayley. It should have been annoying. Roman knew he was supposed be disgusted or disturbed at the very least, what with the way he'd been brought up. But he couldn't bring himself to give a flying fuck. Why should he care whether Dean wore make-up or pretty things? It wasn't _hurting_ anyone, and it wasn't like Dean acted any differently.

 

Not for the first time, Roman found himself questioning his dad's judgment.

 

Once dinner was over, dishes washed and everything put away, Roman shifted awkwardly in the doorway, still in most of his gear from practice. On Fridays he usually took his equipment home so he could give it a good scrub. After he'd called his parents to let them know he'd be eating dinner at a friend’s house though, Roman wasn't exactly _keen_ on going home and dealing with his father.

 

Dean was suddenly at his elbow, wearing a well-loved hoodie. “I’ll be back in a little while guys.” He announced, sparking a flurry of ' _it was nice meeting_ _you_ 's and ' _be_ _careful_ 's.

 

Dean’s mom wrapped Roman in a hug before he could escape and he froze as she patted him on the back. “Don’t be a stranger, sweetheart.” Roman barely managed to keep his tears in check, nodding quickly and then pulling away while Dean made smooch noises in the background.

 

“They’re really nice.” Roman mumbled once they were a safe distance from the house and he was sure he’d gotten his waterworks under control. It wouldn’t be good if he came home already worked up and then had to endure his father.

 

“Reigns, are you okay? You looked like you were going to lose your shit when Mom hugged you.” The concern in Dean’s voice startled Roman, the larger man half-turning towards his friend. Dean’s made-up eyes practically shimmered under the streetlights as that suspicious look creased his forehead again.

 

Roman knew that, according to his dad, _real_ men didn’t do 'pussy shit' like wear make-up. The sharp memory of being five and getting punished for playing with his mother’s eyeshadow and rouge palettes still cropped up sometimes. _He said it was an accident, he didn’t mean to throw me_. His shoulder would twinge when bad weather was coming.

 

Real men made their parents proud. Real men didn’t cry. _Real men make their boys respect them. Real men don’t tolerate brats like you!_ Roman shuddered, his father’s voice a little too loud in his head.

 

A hand closed around his own and Roman looked down to see Dean’s firm grip squeezing his hand. “Hey. Reigns. Look, my bedroom window is always unlocked, okay?” Dean offered quietly. “If you ever need someplace to go, someone to talk to.”

 

Roman pulled Ambrose into a hug for the second time that day, just holding the thinner man tightly. After a moment Dean hugged back, wriggling his fingers into the soft space between Roman’s rib pads and undershirt. “You’re a great guy Roman, and I feel like you’re being hurt an’ it pisses me off a little bit.” Ambrose said. “I want to help.”

 

“It’s my mess to deal with.”

 

“Like fuck it is. Where’s your mom in all this?”

 

_She cries and tells him to stop and hugs me tight when he’s done_. Roman felt the nausea bubble in his throat. _She doesn’t protect me, just dusts me off after he’s finished_. He wondered fleetingly if Dean’s foster parents had gone toe-to-toe with his birth family, whether anyone had fought for Dean. “I…” Roman’s voice cracked and then failed outright.

 

Ambrose squeezed him tighter. One of his hands smoothed gently over Roman’s long, tangled hair. “That’s not okay, man. Not fucking right.”

 

“I can handle it.” Roman whispered.

 

Dean snorted. “I can tell.”

 

Later that night, after he’d dealt with his father, showered and dutifully applied his Band-Aids, Roman laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His right shoulder ached, muscle in spasm every couple of seconds.

 

_I can handle it_.

 

…

 

Mojo Rawley clonked his helmet against the library table with a maniac grin, hollering, “ _get hype Reigns!_ ” and nearly scaring Roman to death. Baron Corbin, co-captain of the football team, loomed up behind the smaller man, grimacing apologetically at Roman. “Sorry. We figured we’d come find you. Heard Ambrose was out sick.”

 

Roman gulped, pretty sure he could feel the librarian staring a hole through his back. “Uh, yeah, he’s got a cold. But you guys don’t have to-” Mojo quickly situated himself beside Roman, Zack Ryder sandwiching the larger man between them. “-sit with me.” Roman finished wryly.

 

“How’s the gear fittin’ ya’, Tiny?” A huge hand landed on the top of Roman’s head, Big Cass shooting him a grin. Cass was the other co-captain, and a bit more talkative than Baron. “Most of that was from my freshman year. More’n welcome to it though.”

 

“Your real name is Colin?” Roman _had_ been a bit confused when Coach Owens tossed him a full set of pads after he aced his tryout, all carefully labeled _Colin C._

 

Big Cass nodded. “I barely fit inna’ that set at the start of the year an’ after six months I couldn’t MacGyver the shit anymore.” He elbowed Baron in the ribs. “Tats here was in the same boat, all leg an’ arm.”

 

“Man, don’t call me that.” Baron grumbled. “Pay up, guys. We don’t want to get thrown out. Mojo, _stop_ banging your head on the table. Shit.” Everyone quickly scooped their desserts off their trays, resulting in a small pile of cookies, a homemade brownie and a chocolate pudding cup sitting in the middle of the table.

 

Roman watched in confusion as Baron gathered everything up and approached the librarian’s desk, returning empty-handed a few minutes later. “She says thank you, but we still need to be quiet.” Baron relayed, looking a little less worried.

 

Ryder pumped his fist, walloping Roman in the shoulder. Roman grunted, feeling more than off-balance as the guys set into talking in hushed tones about their next practice. The fact that they’d known he would be alone for lunch and had come to find him was…odd. But in a good way. It made Roman feel better about the fact that he was on the team. He realized to his shame that he had been quickly, willingly accepted into the football fold with hardly any fuss. They treated him like an equal since day one. He wasn’t sure if his old teammates would be so kind to someone transferring over from three years of football. _He_ certainly wouldn’t have been.

 

_This is my team now_. The thought didn’t make him sad anymore, as he looked around at the loudly-whispering guys at his table and took another bite out of his sandwich. His other sandwich sat neatly in its plastic bag. If he was still hungry after he was done with his first, maybe he would eat it.

 

Maybe.

 

“…on Dean putting on his 'pretty' face again. I swear, he gets so flustered when he thinks he’s being slick bro!” Ryder’s comment pulled Roman out of his own head. He stiffened, the other man nonchalantly continuing to prattle on with Mojo about how good Dean looked in his make-up, “ _actually pretty cute for a guy, y'know?_ ”. The thing that surprised Roman was the lack of malice in his tone. It _shouldn’t_ have surprised him, neither Zack or Mojo had ever displayed any sort of bullying tendencies. He had just _assumed_...

 

Baron rumbled threateningly, giving Roman another apologetic look. “Sorry if you didn’t know, man. Good goin’, Ryder, that big mouth of yours is going to get poor Ambrose killed.” He scolded, making Zack visibly deflate.

 

“Aw man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spill the beans bro.” Zack looked terrified. “You aren’t going to be mean to him now that you know, right Reigns? He’s always been good to Mojo and I.”

 

“I’ll kick anyone’s ass if they try anything with Ambrose!” Mojo said enthusiastically, “He’s hype man, he showed me how to seal my eye black so it doesn’t run when I sweat!”

 

“Rawley, _please_.” Big Cass hissed. “Ya’ voice. Down here wit' the rest of us.”

 

All Roman could do was nod and promise to be polite to Dean, barely holding in his laughter at how serious Zack and Mojo were about it.

 

Later during practice Roman was _actually_ vocal, calling out sloppy tackles and nearly getting into it with Rhyno after the other man whipped his helmet at him. Coach Owens, who only had two moods (mad and _really_ mad), had Rhyno sit a few drills out and put Roman in the next scrimmage.

 

Roman was almost instantly bowled over by Big Cass, who helped him up and then cracked their helmets together, knocking him back down. “Careful what you wish for, Tiny!” Cass chuckled.

 

From his place dying on the ground, Roman wheezed out something that might have been “ _fuck you_ ”, which only made Big Cass laugh harder.

 

_I can handle it_.

 

…

 

It was never enough for his father, though. Roman had known that for a while, but something always had to remind him harder.

 

“We won! I can't believe we won!” Roman cheered as he walked in the front door, still trying to get his sneakers off. He knew it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it had been his first _real_ game and he was pretty proud of himself. For being a guy that had joined the team out of desperation he didn’t think he was doing too bad.

 

“That's great news, honey!” His mom's voice came from the kitchen and Roman lumbered through the doorway in search of the delicious smell that was _definitely_ not another green shake. His mom was hard at work making spaghetti and meatballs. She gave Roman a kiss on the cheek and rumpled his hair, smiling up at him. “I knew you’d get the hang of it. How many touchdowns did you get?”

 

“Oh, I didn’t get any. It was all Baron. I’m on the defense line. Pushing and shoving, y’know.” Roman shrugged. “I helped, though!”

 

“Sure you did.” His father snorted from his spot at the table. “You’re already getting complacent, just like you did with basketball.”

 

Roman felt his happiness curl up and die in his chest, barely able to get out a weak, “No I’m not, Dad.” His father got to his feet, rolling up the newspaper he’d been reading.

 

“Roman, sweetheart, can you set the table for me?” His mother asked quickly, obviously trying to keep the explosion from happening. For three crazy seconds Roman debated on ignoring her, on staring his father down until he started swinging. Sure, he might not _win_ , but Baron had shown him how to throw a mean jab. He’d get in a few shots.

 

_But after that…_

 

Roman’s shoulders slumped and he shuffled to the cupboard, picking up a stack of plates. His father was _right there_ when he turned around though, looking irritated. “Are you giving your mother a hard time, _Roman?_ ” The younger man focused on the plates he held, knowing that eye contact would only make things worse. His dad huffed in a self-satisfied manner after a few moments of silence, stepping to the side and letting Roman move toward the table. “Good boy.”

 

Roman’s face burned with shame and he carefully put the plates down on the table. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a dog or a little kid, Dad.” He said quietly. “If you have to call me anything just call me Roman. Don’t…I don’t like it when you call me that.”

 

“Look who’s grown a spine! Aren’t you just the little diplomat tonight.” His father growled. “Keep this up and you’re going to bed without supper.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Dad! All I want to know is how I upset you!” Roman finally erupted, whirling to face his parents. “Is it because I exist? Is it because I’m not as good as my cousins? Just _tell_ me what I did wrong, so I can try to fix it!” His fists clenched. “Why don’t you love me anymore, Dad? I know you _must_ have at some point. I don’t think I would have gotten this far if you hated me the whole time I've been around.”

 

“Roman!” his mother gasped, seeming shocked.

 

His father sucked in a breath, looking absolutely furious. “You are pushing your luck, _boy_.”

 

“I’m not a child!” Roman yelled.

 

“You’re going to get your ass beat like you are one if you don’t knock off the attitude! I’ve given you plenty of chances, _Roman_.”

 

“What kind of dad beats his kid?” Roman spat, watching his mother freeze up. There. He’d said it. Now she had no choice but to acknowledge it. “What kind of dad throws his _five-year-old_ kid against a wall over and over until he blacks out because he got into his mom’s makeup? What kind of dad takes out his aggression on a child? Go ahead and tell me.” Roman folded his arms across his chest, glaring at his father.

 

The older man was almost purple with rage. “Roman-” He sputtered wordlessly for a few moments before knocking Roman on his ass with a wild shove. The back of Roman’s head slammed against the doorframe and he grunted in pain, barely given a second to breathe before his father was over him, a boot planted firmly on his soft stomach. “How many chances have I given you?!” he roared as Roman struggled. “How many times have I encouraged you, you pathetic little shit? _How_ _many_ _times?!_ ”

 

Roman managed to get his fingers under the sole of his father’s boot, forcing it up and off his body. He bolted for the door, hearing the infuriated yell of his father behind him.

 

The untied laces of his sneakers slapped the asphalt as Roman fled. He didn’t check to see if his dad was following him, he just ran and ran until his legs were shaking, his lungs were burning and then he finally stopped, almost falling over. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to cry.

 

_I can handle it_.

 

Roman choked back a sob, raising his head to try and figure out where he was. He slowly continued walking down the street, realizing that he was practically at Dean’s house. _Pathetic_. He shook his head at himself even as he carried on, his heart sinking when he saw that the house was dark. And he didn’t even have his _phone_ , it was still in his gear bag. _Shit_.

 

Roman sat down heavily on the front steps, sucking in a few shuddering breaths. He was totally okay. Nothing had really happened. His stomach ached a little, but he was okay. If this was a victory though, why the hell did he feel so shitty?

 

He must have dozed off there, propped up against one of the columns on the porch. A hand touched his shoulder and he almost jumped out of his skin, frantically scrambling to his feet. “Whoa! Easy Ro, just me.” Dean soothed, his eyes wide in the twilight. “You okay man? How long have you been here?” His face hardened. “What happened, Reigns?”

 

Roman’s throat closed up and he shook his head, rubbing his eyes. Dean sighed after a minute, wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders and ushering him into the empty house. He sat Roman at the kitchen table, sitting down across from him and folding his hands.

 

“Okay man, give it to me.” Ambrose said firmly. “I know _something_ happened, you might as well tell me. Trust me, it’ll make you feel better.”

 

Roman’s eyes teared up, blurring his vision. He _felt_ pathetic, he felt weak. Everything that his dad had ever called him came flooding back. _Useless, soft, spineless_ …

 

The wail that tore out of his chest wasn’t a sound he’d ever made before and Roman slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle it, hiccuping sobs wracking his body. Dean scrambled to him, looking panicked. “Fuck, shit. Shit, Reigns, I’m so sorry.” He apologized, pulling Roman in a hug. Roman just cried into Dean’s shirt, embarrassed and hurt and helpless to do anything except prove his dad right. He was _weak_ , he was _pathetic_ , spineless and complacent and _soft_.

 

Ambrose shushed him, rocking back and forth as Roman clung to his t-shirt. “Jesus Christ Ro, if this is how you get…” Dean cleared his throat. “You guys fought, didn’t you?”

 

“I ran.” Roman answered, the words thick in his mouth. Like the too-much food, like the shame and guilt.

 

“Good.”

 

_What?_ Roman pulled away to look up at Dean. The other man looked _proud_. As if Roman had done well by being a fucking coward.

 

“You take care of _you_ , got that? Not a lot of other people will, Reigns. You removed yourself from the situation, man. You did good.” Dean’s knuckles grazed Roman’s jaw. “Kept _you_ safe.”

 

“B-But-”

 

“Ain’t no buts about it Reigns, so stuff ‘em. I would have cleaned up my room if I’d known we were havin’ a sleepover, but I’ll get over it.” Dean hauled him upright, giving him a quick, one-armed hug. “Get your ass upstairs, Reigns.” His hand slid down over the aforementioned ass, lingering there for a few long seconds before releasing Roman.

 

Dean offered him the use of the shower, promising to scrounge up some pajamas while Roman rinsed the cold sweat off his body. The forming bruise on his stomach made Roman swear quietly, fingers tracing the outline of boot tread in the shower. A few more tears fell. It had been a while since his dad left definitive proof of his actions, the older man usually too smart for that.

 

Ambrose knocked on the bathroom door once Roman had turned the shower off and wrapped a towel around his waist, popping his head in with a bundle of mismatched clothes draped over his shoulder. “Hey, so here’s…” Roman watched the expression on Dean’s immaculate face darken, flinching when Ambrose shoved the door open the rest of the way. It was a little comical to see Dean’s neat eyeliner smudging from the force of his narrowed eyes. “I’ll kill him.” Ambrose said finally.

 

Roman held up his hands. “Dean, it’s-”

 

“Don’t you dare, man. I said that enough when I was living with my mom. Lied for her for fuckin’ _years_ , Reigns. It’s not ‘okay’, it’s _never_ ‘okay’. So save it.” Dean growled. “Don’t make the excuses. Don’t give them the power.” He reached out, fingers barely touching the skin of Roman’s stomach. “What the fuck, Reigns.”

 

“I couldn’t do anything. He pushed me over.” Roman didn’t know why he was explaining. “He says…says m’ soft and complacent. A stupid little boy.”

 

“ _He’s_ the stupid one, Ro.” Dean’s palm covered the top of the bruise. If Roman pretended hard enough maybe he could forget the mark was there. “He doesn’t see the gift that you are. You’ve got a great heart, Reigns. You’re so much braver and stronger than he’ll _ever_ be.”

 

Roman ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t fair that Dean looked as good as he did, even when he was spouting lies with those pink lips. Not like a girl, but definitely not like a guy either. Not like anyone else Roman had encountered. _All_ _Ambrose_ _though_ , _that’s_ _for_ _sure_. “You don’t have to lie to me, man. I’m okay.” Roman mumbled. “I always heal. It’s not like anything-”  
  


Dean kissed him hard, his hand cupping the back of Roman's neck. “Don't say that shit, Reigns.” he murmured. “I'd never lie to you about something as important as this. You're worth so much more than you know.”

 

Roman rested his forehead against Dean's, confused and a little breathless. “Dean...” A part of him noticed that Ambrose's lip gloss had smeared, glittering on his chin.

 

“Can I show you?” Ambrose asked softly, thumbs rubbing hot circles into the skin of Roman's hips. He kissed him again, less hard this time.

 

“Sh-show me what?” Dean's mouth lowered to Roman's shoulder in response, the larger man bracing himself against the wall as Ambrose slowly sucked a hickey to life. “ _Ah-!_ Dean, Jesus-”

 

“I've got you.” Dean said gently. “You're with me. Nothing bad is gonna' happen, Reigns. I promise.”

 

Roman closed his eyes. He wanted to believe Dean more than _anything_ , barely able to hold back a whimper as Dean's fingers smoothed over the indents of his hips. _Fuck_. “Just don't hurt me.” he managed to say.

 

Dean pulled open one of the drawers beneath the sink, quickly scrubbing his face clean with some of those makeup removal wipes and then rinsing off with a washcloth. Roman made a noise of protest and Dean gave him a smile in the mirror, a _real_ smile that made his heart skip. Ambrose took his hand, tugging him to follow behind him down the hallway to his room. “Nobody should be able to hurt you, Roman. You're fuckin' beautiful and it should be illegal.”

 

Roman's laugh was a weird hiccuping sound, cut off by Dean's mouth on his own for the third time (Roman wasn't sure why he was counting). Soft pecks across his lips, four five six, and then a trail down his jaw of seven, eight, nine, ten. Eleven and twelve landed on his collarbones and Roman squirmed, not used to this level of attention.

 

“Let me take care of you.” Dean whispered. “Please, Roman.” His hands trailed over the soft expanse of Roman's stomach, squeezing gently here and there. Like he wasn't turned-off by how big Roman was.

 

“I don't know what to do.” Roman whispered back, fingers shakily twining into Dean's curls. “Tell me what to do.”

 

“Lay down for me?” Dean requested, letting Roman pull him into a kiss. The thirteenth one, and the first one that Roman had initiated. “Wanna' see you all laid out, bet you look _great_.” There was a new gravel to Ambrose's voice that had Roman's stomach doing flips, the larger man shyly fumbling with the towel around his waist as he sat on the edge of Dean's bed. “You can leave the towel on if you're not okay with being naked just yet.” Dean said kindly, pulling his own shirt off over his head.

 

_Just yet_ . Roman's mind spun with possibilities. Ambrose liked how he looked. Ambrose wanted to see  _more_ . His mouth went dry as Dean's hands landed on his shoulders and gently pushed him to lay on his back. “I want you comfortable, Reigns. You're safe here.” Dean murmured, climbing up to straddle him. Kiss fourteen was almost a question, almost a dare, teeth nipping teasingly at his lips.  _Take off the towel_ . Roman released his stranglehold on the terrycloth, letting it fall open and frame his hips. 

 

Ambrose paused, looking down and then making a quiet noise in his throat. “ _Oh_ , damn. Reigns. Fuck. I am gonna' kiss every inch of you.” His voice was barely there, rasping in a way that  _should not_ be attractive but Roman would be damned if  _everything_ Dean did wasn't attractive to him. Not to mention the threat of being kissed everywhere  _definitely_ had appeal. “On your hands and knees, Ro.” The order was soft, crooned in his ear. 

 

Roman swallowed hard as Dean rose onto his knees, taking in for the first time the myriad of small scars that marked Dean's torso. “She left her hurts on me. For a while I thought I was ugly, y'know. Didn't think anyone would want to touch me.” Dean said casually. “But I know better now. I'm pretty as fuck. Almost as pretty as you.”

 

Roman lunged up for kiss number fifteen, making Ambrose laugh into it. “S' true! You're cute as fuck, Ro, so don't even try to tell me you're not.” Dean's hands pressed appreciatively to Roman's thighs, stroking hard down to his knees. “Look at all this fuckin' thick muscle, bet you could snap a motherfucker in half if you wanted to.” Roman flushed, looking away from Dean's hands. But fingers caught his chin and tugged it back, making him watch. “Look at this fuckin' sexy son of a bitch, who doesn't even  _know_ he's sexy. With that pretty fucking hair and those fucking eyes, all wide in wonder like no one's ever told you this shit.” The groan Dean let out made Roman's cock twitch with interest and Dean noticed, a grin quirking his mouth up. “You like my noises, huh Ro? Bet I'm gonna'  _love_ yours.” 

 

Roman couldn't take the teasing anymore, rolling over and hiding his burning face in his folded arms. Dean was merciless though, hot words and kisses making their way down Roman's spine. “Gonna' make you feel so good, Ro, so damn good.” A soft bite dug into Roman's left ass cheek, followed by gentle licking and sucking on the area. Roman knew he shouldn't enjoy it but he couldn't help what his body reacted to, burying his face a little deeper to keep his sounds at bay. Dean's hand slid up beneath him, barely touching the head of his cock. Roman bit down on his arm, his hips shuddering. “Mm, c'mon, I know you can do better than that.” Dean whispered, loosely tugging Roman's dick. “You need me to lick you open? You gonna' make noise if I eat you out, Reigns? Anyone ever done that for you?”

 

Roman almost didn't manage to keep his moan to himself at  _that_ . Almost. Dean's hands spread him open and Roman shoved his face into the sheets, a muffled whimper fighting free at the first long, slow roll of Dean's tongue. “ _There_ we go.” Dean murmured, sounding pleased with himself. “So fuckin' sexy, Ro, holy shit. Make noise, let me know how it feels.” Dean returned to the task at hand, sloppily licking over Roman's hole. 

 

Roman panted for breath, his back arching when Dean started jerking him off as well. “O- _oh_ , oh God, oh God, Dean, fuck fuck f- _uck_ \--” He hung his head, crying out as Dean fucked him open with his talented tongue. “P-please, Dean,  _please_ , m' sorry m' like th-this-” He apologized, his voice cracking.

 

Dean rubbed the small of his back in a soothing gesture and Roman buried his face in the sheets again, moaning helplessly. Words escaped the larger man at this point, body dim to everything except the need that coiled in his stomach. Every point of contact Ambrose had with him felt like  _good yes more_ , like  _he wants me_ . Roman was a writhing mess for Dean, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat as Dean tugged his cock so nice, speared him open with his tongue and licked feverishly at his insides and made him feel so damn  _good_ . Roman knew he didn't deserve it, knew he hadn't earned any of it. 

 

Dean's palm splayed out on Roman's stomach for a second, carefully covering the bruised area. “Never again.” Dean murmured. Roman groaned, fucking Dean's fist with quick, vicious snaps of his hips. Dean nipped the small of his back and then placed kiss twenty-seven there. The panting of Roman's breathing hitched at the soft touch, his eyes rolling back as Ambrose kept muttering against his skin. “I'll kill him if he touches you again. You're too beautiful to hurt. So sweet and kind, nobody deserves you. Beautiful, so fucking beautiful...”

 

“M' gonna' f-fuckin'-” Roman sobbed, his hips stuttering and voice breaking. Dean snarled, thumbing over the head of Roman's cock and making the larger man rock back against him. Roman cried out into the sheets, his doubts momentarily forgotten as everything faded away and he came.

 

Dean sucked in a breath, grunting. Roman dimly heard some rustling and then hot come spurted onto his back, making his already spent body shiver at the foreign sensation. “Holy fuckin' shit, Reigns, you need to come with a warning label.” Ambrose said shakily. “Feel like I got punched in the chest. That was  _the_ hottest time I've ever had eating someone out, hands down.” He grabbed a handful of Roman's ass, massaging the tense muscle and startling a moan out of the larger man. “So hot, so damn attractive. Was it good for you? How do you feel?” Dean continued worriedly.

 

Roman stretched luxuriously, hearing Dean inhale sharply as he arched his back with a satisfied sigh. “Thank you.” he murmured, hiding his face in his arms again.

 

Dean's weight shifted off the bed. “I gotta' wash up real quick. Don't move, okay Ro?”

 

“Pretty sure I'm paralyzed.” Roman grunted, entirely content with his current position. He dozed off until Dean roused him with a warm washcloth on his back, only rolling over when he was half-pushed by Ambrose. Dean seemed to love his stomach, pressing tender little kisses all over it after he wiped him down. “Thirty-five.” Roman mumbled, making Ambrose look up with a confused expression.

 

“Thirty-five?”

 

“Thirty-five kisses.” The dark-haired man yawned widely, tugging Ambrose into his arms and snuggling him close. “Thirty-five kisses for me. Two with make-up. Thirty-three without. Thank you.”

 

Dean's laugh was quiet, a little choked. “Thirty-six.” he said softly, catching Roman's lips. “Thirty-seven...”

 


End file.
